Finding Destiny
by TeaOli
Summary: Destiny, once chosen, does not simply occur. It must be cultivated. Obstacles to achieving the preferred end must be eliminated.
1. Allegiance

_Written for _ejectingthecore _as part of the _WritersAnonymous _holiday fic exchange._

Prompt: "Trek, either the original series or the movie, all Spock, but any Spock at all-new, old, Prime, Mirror."

Happy Holidays, etc!

Part One of Seven

* * *

_**Allegiance**_

She loved him. Without condition, she told him.

"It is illogical to make such a claim. You are intelligent enough to conceive of a condition where I might lose your affection."

"It might be illogical, honey. _I_ might be illogical, but can't imagine anything you would do that could make me stop loving you."

"Surely—"

"No!" In spite of her sharp tone, she smiled as she reached up to smooth the hair of his fringe. He did not recoil from her touch. "I stand by my claim. Because you are your father's son. Because you are _my_ son. But mostly, because you're _you_. I refuse to believe anything you _would_ do could change the way I feel.

"I might not always agree with your choices, but I will always be proud of you, and I will always love you."

This was not the first time she said those words to him, nor would it be the last. Reasonable or not, her support fortified him. Because he believed her, and because he believed _in_ her, his love also lacked conditions.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't any Star Trek characters or concepts.


	2. Juncture

Part Two of Seven.

* * *

_**Juncture**_

He stared into the mirror, assessing each of his features in their turn. The pale, green-tinted skin was like a canvas. On it, a mix of his parents' phenotypes had painted: full, dark pink lips — inherited from his mother — that were nevertheless stained with a smudge of green blood; a high, straight nose with nostrils optimally configured for drawing sufficient air from his planet's thin atmosphere; a pair of dark eyes and darker brows, slashed across his forehead in the manner inherent to his father's race.

He focused on the eyes again.

They had taunted him. Not one had singled out the mouth which, at rest, held the same shape that his mother's did. Only his "human eyes" had been the source of their censure.  
And yet his eyes were no more human than the rest of him. Neither human nor Vulcan, they had been formed from genetic material originating from two worlds. Whatever "humanity" his schoolmates had detected in them must therefore be a product of his inability to control his expression.

"Logic offers a serenity humans seldom experience," his father had told him. "The control of feelings, so that they do not control you."

But he had not been in control his emotions.

"You are fully capable of deciding your own destiny."

Again, he assessed each features in turn, wiping away the blood that clung to his lips, drawing a deep breath through his nose, and, finally, allowing the muscles around his eyes to relax until even he could not discern what he felt merely by observing himself in the mirror.

And then he turned away and walked over to his meditation platform, destiny already chosen.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't any Star Trek characters or concepts.


	3. Acceptance

Part Three of Seven

* * *

_**Acceptance**_

Perspiration rolled off his damp face when he lifted his mouth from her engorged nipple. A single drop fell onto the cool, dry skin between her breasts and slid down until it reached the line where their abdomens touched. That, and his warmer body, were the only outwards signs of his otherness which he could not mask or fully overcome.

She never recoiled when he was in this state, instead simply grasping his shoulders more securely and bracing her knees more firmly against his side. Her acceptance of the one human response he could not control was as agreeable as it was, under the circumstances, only logical. And yet… although it was not essential to the successful completion of the activity, he acknowledged her forbearance by more actively pursuing the sensations she found most gratifying.

He found tranquility in the familiarity of routine.

Upon feeling the first rhythmic contractions of her keshtan-ur around his lok, he shifted his weight onto one forearm. Altering the position not only allowed him to adjust his hips to the angle he knew was optimally suited to intensifying her orgasm, but also freed a hand to reach between them.

He stroked her ko-lok in a cadence complementary to that of his thrusts. The strength and speed of the contractions increased, urging him to follow suit.

Her back arched abruptly. She drew in a sharply gasping breath, her fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. Her body trembled against his and her keshtan-ur convulsed rapidly around him. He plunge faster and deeper, taking his own pleasure even as he quickened hers.

Then they both stilled and stiffened, only her keshtan-ur continued to undulate as his lok jerked within its walls, beyond his control, and pleasurable sensations left both breathing heavily with pounding hearts.

.

.

The act completed, he lay on his back, fully engaged in the effort of returning his heart and respiration rates to normal, while giving her the opportunity to do the same. Soon, she would make use of the sonic shower, and then, when he took his turn vibrating away the results of his exertions, she would change the bedding.

When she rose in the silence that followed, he remained where he was. He did not watch her slender form as she crossed the room to use his hygienic facility.

Precisely six minutes later, she emerged. Instead of going to the tall chest where he had designated a drawer for her to keep sleeping attire, she immediately went to the pile of neatly folded clothing lying on a chair near his window. The garments had been stacked in the order in which she had removed them. She unfolded and donned them again in an economical reverse to her earlier undertaking. This deviation from the normal routine, he did watch, although she kept her back turned to him until she was fully dressed.

"We will not do this again until we meet at the appointed place," she told him.

He was surprised, but did not reveal this. He was also curious, and that, he did share. "Why? You acquitted yourself well; I was not dissatisfied with your conduct."

Her face remained smoothly placid, her voice barely modulated as she answered. "I was not satisfied."

He felt an unexpected stab of anger at the perceived insult — his own performance had not been lacking — but mastered it, and countered her claim. "Untrue. You achieved completion, as did I."

She lifted her chin slightly, but continued to meet his gaze steadily. "I achieved climax, but not satisfaction."

"I do not understand," he said because admitting truth was more efficient than attempting to alleviate his own confusion.

"You do not desire me," she told him.

"Untrue," he repeated. "If I lacked desire, we could not have engaged in our recent activity." The statement was not fundamentally true, he knew, but it was factual in the context of their encounter.

"You required release." Although he could sense the reproach behind her words, she did not allow it to inflect her tone. He admired that ability in her. "I was convenient, perhaps even favored over the available alternatives, but not desired intrinsically."

He sat up and stared at her as if under closer scrutiny she would reveal to him the basis for her claims. That the tactic failed was not surprising. She was, after all, correct.

"'Desire', thus defined, is sentiment," he pointed out. "Such is not necessary between bond-mates."

"It is not necessary," she said, "but it is acceptable. In my case, it is also preferable.

"Long have I meditated on the matter. There is no wisdom in continuing to engage in an activity which no longer meets my preferences when there are similarly effective alternatives that lack its detriments."

He realized then exactly what _she_ desired. What she could not take for herself — not without the kal-if-fee — but which was free for him offer. If he chose.

"As always, your logic is impeccable." It was the quality he admired most in his bond-mate. She nodded as if his observation was merely her due.

Destiny, once chosen, did not simply occur. It must be cultivated. Obstacles to achieving the preferred end must be eliminated.

"It is only fitting that you behave as you believe logic demands," he said. "I, too, will meditate on the matter."

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts.


	4. Valediction

Part Four of Seven

* * *

_**Valediction**_

He was not unaware of the deficiencies of internal logic. That did not prevent him from finding baseless insults to the woman he loved untenable.

According to Surak, the path to one's destiny could be cultivated in the amid the wilderness of constant challenge.

But he was fully capable choosing what form said challenge would take, and so he did.

"Council, ministers," he said upon learning of his acceptance to his planet's most prestigious center of learning, "I must humbly decline."

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts.


	5. Misapprehensions

Part Five of Seven

* * *

_**Misapprehensions**_

For someone hailing from a largely homogeneous planet, the diversity was intriguing. He navigated the myriads of peaks and planes like a voyager surveying an unfamiliar planet. His hunger to know more, rather than becoming sated, increased with each new discovery.

But the variations that most intrigued him were not those expressed in the range of physiques, skin colors and hair textures; although broad sampling established a few partialities in all of those areas, his criteria were flexible and, compared to the preferences of human males, extraordinarily inclusive.

The sexual response of human females, however, was far more complex and varied than what he'd come to expect with other species. And this provided for a source of fascination limited only by number of women willing to copulate with him.

A great many were willing. Eager, even.

He did not attempt to differentiate between those who found him sexually attractive and the ones who were curious about his alien nature, or even try to determine if there really was any difference. The new evidence garnered while gaining physical release was sufficient to satisfy his curiosity.

Like an anthropologist among an unstudied population, he catalogued the actions and reactions of the women who shared his bed, his shower, floor or any other acceptable location one might suggest. And he learned to decipher and imitate the components of their rituals.

Like a linguist, he examined the seemingly infinite dialects of coitus. A touch _here_ coaxed out a shudder and a shout which, roughly translated, said "Good, again." A swipe of his tongue _there_ elicited a sudden stiffening and muffled sounds that meant "I am nearing the edge of my control. Push me over."

Still, had inquisitiveness not been another central tenet of his people, he would have given up the practice not long after he'd settled into life on Earth and in Starfleet.

He was always honest with the women, because that was his way. The way of his people and of the life he had chosen. He made no promises beyond the time they spent joining bodies. Most, he found, were content with that. Some even preferred to have no obligation outside of the pleasure given and received.

But a few — always ones who confused attentiveness to the task with unspoken affection — ended up wanting more. The braver — or perhaps the more foolhardy — of these demanded it.

Thorough analyses of past incidences taught him to recognize the signs of ones who were likely to become emotionally affected, and he avoided their advances assiduously. By adhering to a few simple rules, he was able to continue his study without the drawbacks of unsought attachment.

Not every encounter became a learning experience, but the idea that he might come away having picked up or imparted some previously-unobserved piece of knowledge was as appealing in this subject as in all his particular areas of interest. Until he met a woman who wanted to know his full name and everything about him. Who wanted him to put his arms around her after they were done.

Like him, she was a scientist, albeit in a field he had never studied. Those two facts alone had been enough to pique his interest. Her beauty was the least of her attractions. He'd admired her curiosity about what the universe could offer and her enthusiasm for uncovering its secrets, but had failed to see the signs in her.

"I love you," she whispered through the darkness. "I can't believe you don't feel the same. I _won't_ believe that."

He knew he did not share her feelings. Only one woman had ever had held claim to his love.

After she finally left the planet behind and ended her pursuit, he decided the complexity of human females was too potentially hazardous to risk further examination.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts.


	6. Rapport

Part Six of Seven

* * *

_**Rapport**_

They were safer at a distance.

Not only the females.

Humans, in general, were not easy companions.

Many confused his self-possession with disdain. The mistake was not unexpected; although they were commonly more voluble and gregarious than his father's people, a vestige of their comparatively recent introduction to other sentient species was a propensity to expect non-humans to share their own motivations.

Eventually, he learned this worked in his favor. Apart from those who sought out his company because they wished to breach — or to obliterate — his aloof exterior, his colleagues usually left him in peace.

But sometimes one approached him with a different purpose. One who did not want him to abandon the serenity of logic for the chaos of emotionalism. Who did not wish to prove that he was no better than the humans he served with.

These acquaintances were few and far between, but whenever one came along, he took pains to cultivate the friendship.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts.


	7. Passion

Part Seven of Seven

* * *

_**Passion**_

She was the first since he'd given up the vocation for the calm of solitude, but she was also a friend who knew his history and accepted his limitations. One of the few who never asked him to be anything other than what he was. She was... safe, even in close proximity.

He found her waiting for him.

"I'm sorry," she said, standing as he stepped towards his bed. "You probably already know. I guess I could have just sent a message, but that didn't seem fair… in case you didn't."

He did know. And did not want to hear what she would say next. "Not yet," he said. Implored. "Do not decide yet."

"It's already decided. I broke the rules."

"We set no boundaries," he protested.

"But I've always known where they were. And you _know_ I'm past them."

He knew, and he did not want it to matter. Though he couldn't fathom why.

"Not now," he said, stepping closer. "Not yet."

"I don't think you understand how it is for me."

He did not— _could_ not. Not yet. But she didn't protest when his mouth covered hers.

.

.

In a place that was always too cool and never dry enough, it was only logical that her warmth would be seductive. Addictive.

He flattened his body atop hers, stretching his legs between hers and pressing his thigh against her kotik. Her nipples, hardened by the attention of his mouth, pushed into his chest. Slipping one hand beneath her back, he grasped her firm buttocks with the other and took her with him as he rolled over.

The last time he used sight to explore her was the first time they were together like this. With eyes shut, he stroked both hands up and the down the length of her. Kneading the supple skin, he listened for the code that would guide him to his next destination.

She shifted, massaging the wet heat of her cleft into his thigh. He stifled a groan at the unexpected divergence from custom and refocused his attention on educing the responses he was familiar with.

Disentangling their legs. Placing her knees on either side of him. Tasting and stroking her heated skin until she gasped for breath.

Hands at her waist, he lifted, easing her back until she was kneeling above his lok. He trembled, not with the effort of holding her up, but with the anticipation of being engulfed. With the idea, and his memories, of the joining.

.

.

All sense of the passage of time was lost. There was only the feel of her gripping him, slick, hot, tight as he slid out and plunged in, again and again and again.

She was bent forward, fingers digging painlessly into his shoulders as she clung to him. Tantalizing breasts just beyond the reach of his questing mouth.

The sound of his rushing blood rose over her ragged breathing. Her ecstatic cries were overwhelmed by his own harsh growls of exquisite rapture.

An exhilarating explosion left him panting and drenched in sweat, clutching her to him as both their bodies were wracked with post-climactic tremors.

.

.

There was tranquility in the familiarity of routine. But when began she to move her warmer body away from his, preparing to leave as she always did after their business was finished, he pulled her close, unwilling to let go.

He felt her confusion at the change in habit, and was unsure of her compliance when he broke the silence with a single whispered word.

"Stay."

She didn't answer right away, but she ceased her attempts to slip out of his bed. He held on until her breathing steadied again and she relaxed into him. All the while he wondered at his own actions.

His contemplation of his uncharacteristic behavior was interrupted with her abrupt "Are you sure?"

The simple query encompassed numerous questions. He knew he had few answers, even for the ones he recognized.

_Do you know what you ask of me? Can you accept what I need to give? Can you give me what I need?_

He was proficient at giving physical pleasure and eliciting the same from his partners, but he had never before experienced passion. Not while he was in control of his faculties. And yet he was certain that what they had just shared was passion. An emotion for which he'd long believed he had no use.

He was equally sure he wanted to experience it again. Just as he knew that, for the moment, he was content to feel the heat of her skin seep into him while he investigated this… something _other than_, but not _less than_, passion which resulted in a desire for her continued presence.

"I am sure," he said.

A chosen destiny could not come into being without cultivation. Obstacles needed to be overcome. But other paths, when they presented themselves, should not be ignored.

He decided he would explore this path. If it did not lead to the destiny he had chosen, there would be others to steer him back.

And there was the plateau in Gol.

"Please," he added this time, "stay."

_finis_

* * *

**A/N**: Although this is posted in the ST 2009, it was my intention to portray Spock ambiguously enough that etc (and you) can see any Spock you wish in it.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts.


End file.
